


Haunted

by thankspizzaman



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Rape, larry stylinson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-17 09:58:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thankspizzaman/pseuds/thankspizzaman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Louis were best friends. Always together, never apart. You never saw one without the other. They did everything together. Some even suspected there was something more between the two international heartthrobs.<br/>Then came That Night. The night that changed everything. After that, nothing was the same. They become distant, cold with each other. One of them started withdrawing from everyone, even the other boys in the band and family members. It's up to the other to break through to the shell of the once happy eighteen year old but how can one help when the other doesn't want anything to do with them? It all started with that night; it all started with one sentence.</p><p>"You know, if I knew just how difficult you would be to look after, I would have never taken the offer to be in this forsaken band."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Harry's Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this is a new story I am working on. I got the idea for it while watching Blind Injustice on LMN. It’s Larry Stylinson. The title is a work in progress.
> 
> Title: Haunted
> 
> Rating: PG- 15
> 
> Warnings: Angst, mature themes, boy love, mentions of rape
> 
> Do not read this story if mentions of rape and rape scenes are a trigger for you. I repeat, do not read this story if rape is a trigger for you. You have been warned.

Have you ever watched a movie and you get to a certain point in the plot where you can just tell the main character is about to do something stupid? Sure you have, the movie director makes it very easy to tell when someone has made a wrong decision. Don’t you look back at certain events in your life and wish that you could have known that those decisions would permanently affect the rest of your life? It’s pretty easy to tell when a main character in a book or a movie has made a mistake that would undoubtedly affect the whole outcome of the book. In real life, however, the task of easily predicting the outcome of your choices becomes much harder. What if you hadn't sold that book or what if you hadn't worn your mother’s ring to school that day? Would you still be best friends with the owner of the book; would you still be living in that posh house uptown instead of in a rundown apartment in the ghettos of NYC? It’s only until after your life has taken a turn for the worst and you’re playing the past couple of days, weeks, or even months that you start to see exactly where you went wrong and by then it is already too late to do anything about it.

That was the case for Harry Styles, one-fifth of the most famous boy band in the world. It all started seven months ago, on a typical Tuesday in March. The day started out innocently enough; Harry woke up, got dressed, went to yet another interview (the millionth one they've had in the past year and a half). It started to go south, though, when Harry decided to blow off rehearsals. In his defense, Harry hadn't meant to blow rehearsals off; he just needed to get a drink (or two… or twenty) to get his mind of the horrible interview earlier that day. See, during the interview, one of his band mates confirmed that he was no longer single, which came as a surprise to Harry since this particular person told him everything so, surely, he would have told Harry he was dating someone, right? So, in order to get rid of the hurt, anger, jealousy, and betrayal he felt, Harry did what any normal teenage boy would do, he went to a club, got drunk off his ass and picked up a random girl he’d spend the night with. Looking back, Harry admits it was probably not the wisest thing he’s ever done. But, Harry was drunk and upset, so he ended up sleeping with this stranger who, to this day, he still doesn't know the name of.

By the time Harry made it home, it was 2:30 in the morning. He barely had any time to get into the flat before his flat mate started to reprimand him for being so irresponsible and idiotic. In retrospect, Harry should have just let the issue go and gone to his room to sleep off the alcohol that was still in his system, but at that time, he was too drunk to think clearly so he started a fight. That was his second mistake. Somehow, the fight went from reprimanding Harry for his childish actions to both of them throwing in random (and completely untrue) things they hate about the other. Now, Harry should have stopped. He should have just let the fight go. He should have told the other boy he was tired and gone to bed. But Harry wasn't thinking clearly, so he fed the fight the fuel it needed to keep going. For every insult the other threw at him, Harry threw one just as horrid back. Then, the older boy took it too far.

You know, if I knew just how difficult you would be to look after, I would have never taken the offer to be in this forsaken band.

That was the final straw; that sentence lead Harry to make his third, biggest mistake that day. Now, if it was anybody else, Harry would have told them to fuck off and gone to bed. But, it wasn't just anybody else, this was his supposed best mate, the only person who knew Harry better then he knew himself. The only person Harry has ever had serious feelings for just told him he wished they had never met. The sentence caused a sudden burst of indescribable pain to erupt in his chest. That was when he made his final, biggest mistake; Harry turned and ran out the door.

Harry couldn't have possibly known that his running out of that door would affect the course of his life so greatly. It’s impossible to tell what the impact of our decisions would be; it’s only when you look back at them do you realize, almost regretfully, that maybe what you thought was the right thing to do wasn't so right after all. If we had the supernatural ability to pick the good decisions from the bad ones, Harry wouldn't be sitting outside his door only three hours later, crying his heart out. He wouldn’t be rocking back and forth, arms wrapped around his shivering frame while the rain pelted down onto his soaking wet clothes. He wouldn't feel so utterly worthless. If only Harry had just gone to bed three hours earlier, none of this would have happened. Harry wouldn't be the hallowed out, broken boy he would no doubt turn into.

And when Louis opened the door the next morning, he wouldn't find Harry Styles, the lovable flirt. No, he would open the door to find a hollow shell of the once vivacious seventeen year old boy, arms wrapped around his torso as if that would provide some sort of comfort to the fragile boy, clueless as to what had taken place just several hours before and unable to do anything but try and comfort Harry, not that it would do much good to the latter for he was too wrapped up in the relatively new events that would forever be sketched into his mind as if burned on with a white hot stick.

No, in life, people can’t tell which decisions were the best to make until it was too late. It’s a shame, for if Harry had known running out that door would bring about such horrid consequences, none of this would have ever happened. If only…


	2. Louis' Prologue

Louis ran a shaky hand through his tousled hair, guilt consuming him as he watched the other boy absentmindedly play with his hands. It was only the previous night, or early morning depending on how you look at it, where he and Harry had gotten in a fight. At the time, Louis wasn’t thinking at all about the hurtful words he threw at Harry; he was just angry, angry at Harry for being so inconsiderate, angry at himself for getting unreasonable jealous over Harry’s whereabouts. Louis just took all his anger, frustration, and confusion out on Harry, when the poor lad hadn’t done anything to deserve all the hateful words Louis was spewing at him. In his defense, Harry had said some pretty hurtful things back but Louis knew he was the one who started it. Louis knew it was his fault that Harry was now sitting near the fireplace, a blanket around him, curls still damp from the rain, with this look of complete and utter hopelessness that broke Louis’ heart into little pieces.

You know, if I knew just how difficult you would be to look after, I would have never taken the offer to be in this forsaken band.

What the hell had possessed Louis to say such a thing? Louis cringed every time he replayed those despicable words in his mind. That was the last thing he said to the curly haired boy, the one sentence that made Harry run away from him and into the pouring rain. Believe him; Louis regretted the words as soon as he said them, repulsed with himself for saying such horrid, untrue things to the one person he swore he would protect, yet here he was, inflicting the pain. After Harry ran, Louis stood motionless, cursing himself for his stupidity. He knew Harry was a sensitive lad; he got upset over hate random strangers sent him, so he couldn’t imagine how hurt he must be feeling at Louis’ words, especially since Louis was supposed to be his best mate. Some best mate I am, Louis thought miserably, as he took the pot of tea off the stove.

As soon as Louis had gotten over his initial shock, he had run into the street, frantically searching for the distraught boy, with no luck. It seemed as though Harry was long gone. Louis hadn’t slept a wink since his best mate took off, unable to do anything but pace up and down the cold wooden floors too worried about Harry to sleep. So to say that finding Harry soaking wet, sitting on the front porch was a shock would be an understatement. A tsunami wave of relief crashed through Louis’ body, immediately replaced a feeling of concern as he really took in Harry’s state.

“Harry, what are you doing, sitting in the rain?!” Louis exclaimed, placing a hand on Harry’s arm, trying to ignore the way he flinched at the simple contact, and pulled him onto his feet.

Harry didn’t reply, his eyes glazed over as it became clear to Louis that he clearly wasn’t present at the moment, lost in his thoughts. Louis dragged his body inside their flat and made his way to the bathroom for a towel to dry the shivering boy off. The flinching every time Louis touched him was getting harder and harder to ignore.

“Harry, what the fuck happened to you?!” Louis exclaimed, regretting how loud he sounded when Harry shrank away from him in fear.

“Louis…” came the hesitant reply. Louis’ heart panged in pity as he moved his hands to the buttons of Harry’s clingy shirt but was surprised when Harry’s much larger hands came up to stop him with lightning speed.

“What are you doing?”

“Relax; I’m just changing you into some drier clothes. Jeez, what’s gotten into you?” Louis explained and started to undress Harry again. When Harry stood there naked, Louis opened the dryer door and pulled out some sweats and underwear for Harry to wear, absentmindedly realizing they were Louis’ clothing.

When Harry was dressed, Louis took him by the hand and guided the still distraught boy in his bedroom where he made Harry get into bed as Louis tucked the younger boy in. As he was about to leave, a hand reached out and grabbed his. Turning around, he looked down into the wide green eyes of a helpless boy.

“Stay.” The whispered word was enough to make Louis’ heart skip a few beats in his chest. Climbing into bed with his distressed friend, Louis tried to ignore how different it felt sleeping next to Harry felt that night. There was something looming in the air, creating an invisible barrier between the best friends. Louis couldn’t help but wonder what had happened after Harry had run away and if it had anything to do with the tense atmosphere in the room as Louis lay next to his already asleep friend.

Louis waved away the feeling with the excuse that his guilt about the fight was causing him to act paranoid. Nothing had changed between him and Harry; they were still the incredibly close best mates that tended to act in love with each other from time to time and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon. With that thought in his head, Louis drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

Little did he know things were already beginning to change; Harry wasn’t the same careless teenage boy that he was just two; Harry wasn’t the same careless teenage boy that he was just two days ago. In just eight short hours, Harry had developed a secret. A secret that will change him, a secret that has already begun to change him, a secret that would in time destroy the once innocent little boy Harry used to be.

But that’s what happens when you play with fire; you get burned.


	3. Chapter One

It’s been a week since I found Harry on our doorstep. It’s been one painstakingly long week, filled with Harry pushing the boys away, pushing me away, and, to be honest, I was getting sick of it. I was getting sick of watching Harry slowly close himself off from the world and not being able to do a damn thing about it. Ever since that wretched fight, Harry has become mute-like, speaking only when it’s absolutely necessary and unresponsive. He never laughed, he only ate just enough to survive until the next day, anything he said was sharp and crude and I couldn’t do anything to help Harry because Harry wouldn’t talk to me at all.

In our flat, Harry would spend most of his time in his room or watching TV when I’m not there. He never whispered even half a word for me, choosing to grunt at anything I said to him. In interviews he would always choose the seat farthest away from me and would never address me directly. The only time he would acknowledge the fact that I even existed is when an interviewer or a fan asked about our so-called bromance. And, quite frankly, I was getting fucking tired of it.

I was tired of waiting for Harry to open up about why the hell was he so despondent nowadays. I wanted to go up to Harry and shake some sense into him or, at the very least, make Harry tell me what the hell is going on, but I was too scared of what his answer would be. I’m terrified that Harry would say the reason he was a shell version of himself was because of what I told him last week. I couldn’t deal with the guilt if that really was the case.

However, I was getting damn tired of waiting for Harry to come to me.

“Harry, we have an interview in two hours. The fans have noticed that we aren’t talking; Simon said we needed to get our act together soon because we didn’t need any more media in our lives. Can you talk to me? If not, can you please tell me exactly what I did to make you hate me?” I pleaded, my voice cracking on the last two words, as I tried to desperately hold in the tears that were threatening to make their way down my cheeks.

The curly-haired boy who was currently perched on our dark brown homey couch, eyes glued to the small screen of his phone. At my words, Harry visibly froze up before lifting his head to icily hold my gaze. The unadulterated taciturnity in those glowing green eyes made my heart squeeze with an unpleasant feeling.

“Fuck you, Tomlinson. Just… fuck you. Do you honestly think I’m acting the way I am because of you? That’s such a fucking joke. Not everything is about you, you absolute dick.”

The unadulterated hatred in his words made me flinch from my position on the love-seat next to the couch. Harry scoffed before getting up and making his way to the door. Jumping up from my seat, I grabbed his upper arm, forcing him to turn back around.

“Harry, please, tell me what’s going on with you. Please, tell me what happened.” I beg, search his eyes for the old Harry; that Harry never kept secrets from him.

Harry’s jade eyes peered into my own, also searching, for what, I didn’t know. His eyes have to be my favorite part of his body, because they’re the only part that displays what he’s feeling. In that moment, I saw my curly go through a dozen emotions; anger, hurt, determination, and finally, defeat.

“I want to tell you, I just… don’t know where to start.” He whispers, almost like a confession.

With each word, his shoulders sagged little by little until I was sure they were going to fall right off. He looked so… innocent… so lost that I felt this urge to wrap him up into my arms and never let him go. I want to protect from whatever’s eating him up inside. I couldn’t bear to see my best friend in such despair. My arms automatically wrapped themselves around his torso, trying to offer some nonverbal comfort.

“I’ll make you a cuppa tea, okay? Come on, Curly.” I say, steering the innocent, childlike man next to me into the kitchen we shared.

I put some water to boil before sitting in the empty seat next to Harry, who had his head on top of his crossed arms. Putting an arm around his shoulders, I rubbed his upper arm comfortingly.

“Harry, you know you can tell me anything, right? I won’t judge you, I swear.” I plead with the slightly shivering boy next to me.

“I just… every time I go back to that night, which is a lot, believe me… I feel so… dirty…” Harry started to explain, looking up into my eyes, nonverbally pleading with me not to view him any differently.

To say I wasn’t scared would be a lie; I loved Harry but the way he was speaking, devoid of any emotion, was scaring me shitless, and I don’t get scared easily. I desperately wanted for Harry to just spit out what the hell was going on in that head of his so I could assess the damage and give harry what he needed to be fixed again. Being kept in the dark wasn’t something I enjoyed; especially when it came to people I cared deeply for.

“So, um, do you remember that night I, uh, came home at, like two in the morning and we got into that fight?” he asked, his hands shaking slightly.

“Yes, Harry. It’s something that’s haunted my dreams ever since you came home, looking like death.” I reply, taking his hand in mine.

“Well, I ran out in the pouring rain and, um, I was just walking aimlessly. I was passing by this big, old building… when, um… someone grabbed me from behind and, um… he, he, um, he put some cloth over my mouth, and, it knocked me out… I was probably only out for a few minutes, um, when I woke up… he… he had my pants off… said, that a fag like me will enjoy this…” Harry confessed, trying to hold in his tears.

I gasped and it seemed as if that was Harry’s breaking point, for everything he seemed to be holding in broke and everything came crashing down. The tears he was so obviously trying to hold back were now free falling on his face. I pulled him into a bone crushing hug, feeling so horrible for the broken man in my arms. To have to go through that must have been so horrible for Harry.

“Shh, curly, you’re okay now. He’s gone. He’s never coming back again; he’ll never hurt you again. I’ll protect you.” I say, a fierce protectiveness in my voice.

“I just feel so dirty, I feel like utter crap. Every time I look at myself in the mirror, all I see is his hands all over me. I don’t know what to do, Lou… tell me what to do to make this feeling go away… tell me what will make me forget… please…” he whispered so brokenly that his tone alone broke my heart into a million little pieces.

I pulled him into a hug, as if that could somehow make him forget what had happened. His tears were slowly soaking my shirt but I didn’t care; all I cared about was fixing the broken boy in my arms. I don’t know how long we stayed wrapped up like that, as if the only thing that existed was the warmth of the other. We were finally forced apart when the doorbell rang, jolting us out of our little world. Harry looked at me, giving me a small smile that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, as I smiled back at him.

“Okay, so, that’s probably Daddy Direction wondering where the hell we are. Go get dressed, Curly, and I’ll make up some lie about us having crazy sex and that’s why we’re late.” I cheekily tell him, grinning when he let out a strangled laugh.

Getting up, I went to open the door and sure enough there was Liam looking like his turtle was missing, along with Niall and Zayn. Grinning, I opened the door even wider as they each came into our flat.

“Hello, boys! What a pleasant surprise!” I mock-exclaim as they took their seats on the couch, all minus Liam, who was furiously pacing across the living room in panic.

“Louis, we have exactly half an hour left until we have to leave for our interview. Where the hell is Harry?” he exclaims, his arms flailing around. The sight was very comical, if I do say so myself.

“Getting dressed, you know our hazza-bear, ever the hibernating bear!” I say joyfully.

Do you know how hard it is to pretend like nothing is wrong when really nothing is right? All I could picture is my Hazzahead looking so fractured… so damaged, as if nothing could ever fix him. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t try to fix him.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear; Harry’s long, lanky frame came walking down the hall, looking as perfect as ever. A smile instantly made its way to my face as I took in his appearance. A frown took its place, however, as I realized just how good of an actor Harry must be, for there was not a single trace of his previous helplessness.

“Okay, we’re all here. We need to get a move on or else we’ll be in deep shit with Management.” Niall says, making his way to the door.

One by one the boys left, until it was just me and Harry, alone again in this big apartment. Taking his larger hand in my own, I exited our flat with Harry in tow. I felt his hand curl slightly tighter around mine before we had to break apart to get into the limo that would no doubt take us to yet another interview. Despite the revelation Harry told me this morning, the air between us and the rest of the boys wasn’t tense or awkward in the slightest. I was currently joking around with Niall when I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket.

1 New Message from Thy Hazza-head:

Thank you. For everything. Xx

Smiling, I texted back a simple ‘you’re welcome xx’ and pocketed my phone, winking at Harry before turning back to Niall.

Throughout the interview, Harry was his usual charming self. It made me think that we could get through this, that having someone who knew what happened helped him. It made flickers of hope rise up, making me believe that I could actually fix him.

But, even if you fix a broken mirror, the crack is still visible every time you look at it, reminding you that it can never look like it did before it broke.


	4. Chapter Two

After Harry had opened up about That Night, life slowly returned back to normal. It was still awkward at times but for the most part, we were slowly getting back to our usual routine. I tried to not dwell on what Harry had told me, how seeing him so broken had scared me. I knew if I thought about some low-life scumbag touching Harry, my Harry, I would end up doing something I regret, like try to find the dirt bag and beat his face in. I resumed my cheerful, loud personality, determined to try and forget the fact that Harry had been raped. If I didn’t think about what had happened That Night, it wouldn’t exist, right?

Harry tried to follow my example. He tried to become his normal, cheeky self but there were times when he stared at the opposite wall, expression intense and eyes unreadable with countless emotions, most of which did not have a name. Sometimes, when I put my arm around his shoulder or Niall grasped his wrist or Zayn would unconsciously place his hand on Harry’s leg, he gasped and jerked out of the touch. The other boys were becoming confused at Harry’s unusual behavior; they had come to me individually to see if I knew anything about why Harry was being all weird (their words, not mine). I felt bad about lying to them but it wasn’t my secret to tell.

Most of the time, however, Harry was fine. He laughed and joked and flirted with any and everyone within a five-mile radius (of which I didn’t approve, but hey, who was I to have a say in who he did or didn’t flirt with?). Maybe that was why it was so easy to ignore the other times, the times when Harry wasn’t as okay as he pretended to be. Maybe that was why I could pretend that Harry had never been touched and manhandled the way he had. It was, after all, easier to pretend that it was to face reality.

The illusion of my perfect world, where That Night never happened, was shattered only nine days later. It only took nine days for reality to creep into my illusion, effectively destroying it. It took nine days for the nightmares to start.

Nine days later, it was about eleven at night and I was on my bed, going through my twitter feed when a muffled cry erupted from the room next to mine. Curious as to what was going on, I walked into Harry’s bedroom, my eyes instantly falling on the huddled bump in the center of the room. Harry’s messy curls were plastered to his forehead, sweat forming on his face as he tossed and turned, flailing his arms as if trying to defend him from an invisible force. I slowly made my way towards the big wooden framed bed, determined to wake the younger lad up from whatever dream he’s having.

“No, please, stop… no, get away from me!” he yelled, withering on the bed. 

The shout made me freeze in my tracks, cautiously peering at my best friend.

“Stop! Please, just stop! No, get away from me! Leave me alone!” Harry continued yelling, his withering become more and more desperately violent with each command.

My heart broke just a little more (really, how many times can a heart break? It feels as though my heart’s broken at least a million times in the past few weeks) as I realized exactly what Harry was dreaming about. Stomach churning uncomfortably, I reached out a shaking hand to try and wake him up from his nightmare.

“Harry, Harry, wake up… come on, love, wake up…” I say as he jolts up in his bed, green eyes startled.

“Wha-?” he asks, running his hand over his face tiredly.

“Shh, it’s okay, love, it was just a nightmare.” I tell him, wrapping my arms around his fragile frame. His arms instinctively wrapped my waist.

“Louis… Don’t leave me, please…” Harry said, looking up into my eyes.

“I won’t; now move over you big lug.” I say, smiling when Harry let out a weak chuckle.

He moved over and held the covers open for me, cuddling up to me when I got in, making my stomach feel all fluttery at the intimate position. No, now was not the time for my not-exactly platonic feelings to surface. Harry had enough on his plate without adding my messed-up feelings in the mix.

“What were you dreaming about, love?” I ask softly, running my fingers through his slightly damp curls.

Harry tensed in my arms, the action causing a wave of guilt to crash through my insides.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it, love. I’m sorry I brought it up.” I tell the younger boy in my arms, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead before resuming stroking his hair.

“Lou, I’m tired…” he says, cuddling into my neck like a sleep kitten.

“Go to sleep, Haz. We’ll talk in the morning.” I say, tightening my arms around his slightly shaking torso.

As I listened to the sound of his breathing shallow out, I couldn’t help but think about what I had just witnessed. If the nightmare was anything to by, harry was obviously more damaged than he led on. My previous method of trying to ignore That Night was proven to be the wrong thing to do. Harry and I had a lot to talk about in the morning, it seemed. But for now, I closed my eyes as I let sleep overcome me.


	5. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG- 15
> 
> Warnings: Angst, mature themes, boy love, rape
> 
> Do not read this story if mentions of rape and rape scenes are a trigger for you. I repeat, do not read this story if rape is a trigger for you. You have been warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I am so sorry this update took so fricking long. I’ve been so dang busy and I just didn’t have any time. I like how this chapter turned out though but it might be a bit anticlimactic and disappointing after the wait. Feedback always welcomed.

While I had planned to talk to Harry the morning after his first nightmare, it seemed as though the universe (well, mostly management) had other plans. After we were awakened by a call from Liam, we only had an hour to make ourselves presentable for the interviews that were scheduled for that day. I had promised myself I would talk to Harry as soon as we had gotten home but by the time we had finished all of our responsibilities for the day, we were too knackered to do anything but pass out as soon as our heads hit the pillows. The next few weeks were filled with interviews, studio time and publicity stunts in order to promote our new album.

While our talk was being postponed, the nightmares became more and more frequent. Every night, I would be woken up in the middle of the night by desperate yells and every night I would end up in Harry’s bed as a sort of comfort for the younger boy. And every morning, as I woke up to the feeling of curly hair tickling my chin, I would feel an immense sense of guilt as I gazed at down at the innocent, peaceful expression Harry wore while he was sleeping.

I figured as long as I promised myself I would talk to Harry soon, I could continue to live life normally. The nightmares, however, were getting worse. The helpless screams in the middle of the night started to increase in magnitude and the state in which I witnessed Harry when I entered his room become more heartbreaking with each day that passed. No matter how much I liked to pretend otherwise, Harry was obviously not doing okay.

Nevertheless, I continued to avoid our inevitable conversation under the pretense of the promise that I was going to talk to Harry, sooner or later, until the day we had an off day. The free day came sooner than expected; only three weeks after the nightmares had begun. The way our schedule was going, I had thought it would’ve been a long time before Harry and I had to talk.

The morning of our free day, I woke up before Harry did so I thought I would make breakfast. I was in the middle of making the sausages when a sleepy voice interrupted me.

“Morning, Boo.” The words were accompanied by two arms encircling my waist as Harry laid his chin on my shoulder. The simple act of affection caused my heartbeat to rise considerably. Smiling, I turned around, effectively putting some space between us.

“Morning, Hazza. I made you eggs and sausage, if you’re hungry.” I tell him, moving to place the plate containing the hot breakfast on his placemat.

“You made breakfast? What if I get salmonella or something…” Harry replied, throwing me a cheeky grin before sitting down.

Rolling my eyes, I took a seat before answering.

“I may not be a chef extraordinaire like you but I know how to make eggs.” I say, taking a bite of the scrambled eggs before spitting it back out.

“Oh yeah, you obviously know how to make eggs.” Harry said, grinning cheekily before getting up and heading to the fridge.

“All we have is leftover pizza. That okay?”

“Yeah, pizza sounds good.” I reply, watching the eighteen year old singer wordlessly work his way around the kitchen as he put the makeshift breakfast on a couple of plates before sitting back down at the table.

We sat in silence after that, finishing the cold pizza without making a sound. After, we moved to the black leather couch in our living room, watching an unimportant television program. I turned to look at my best friend, trying to think of a way to start a conversation about a topic that would, no doubt, be painful and uncomfortable for us both to think about. After a while, Harry seemed to snap, unable to put up with much more of my intense (and slightly creepy) staring and looked at me.

“What?! Why are you just… staring at me like that? I’m trying to watch some T.V. but you’re burning holes into the side of my head!” he half-yells in exasperation, green eyes flashing.

“You know we have to talk about your reoccurring nightmares sometime, right?” I reply, ignoring the angry tone in his voice because I knew it was just a decoy to try and deflect the terror that was stirring around in his head.

It seemed as though my words had deflated his angry façade as a helpless expression took hold on his usually smiling face. My heart panged in sympathy and sadness for the eighteen year old next to me who has been through things the worst person alive shouldn’t have to deal with.

“Harry… I think we have to tell management about that- that night. They’ll know what to do, love. You’re not going to get over it and move on from it if you keep it bottled up. I mean, Management will know what to do to help you-”

“How?! By paying a stranger to listen to my feelings and pretend they care?! By making me talk to the cops and relive every painful detail from that night?! HOW?! Just tell me how they are going to make this feeling of being worthless go away and I’ll gladly do it.” Harry snapped, green eyes burning with an anger I’ve never seen, along with an unbearable amount of pain.

“Harry…” I reply sympathetically as my mind scrambled for something to say to make the pain I witnessed go away.

“Lou, you don’t understand what it’s like. I feel so exposed nowadays, boo, like everyone who looks at me for more than a second somehow knows what happened that night. It’s not just that. II feel so ashamed, so dirty. After it happened, I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed at my skin but the feeling wouldn’t go away. Even after my shower, I still felt dirty as fuck, Louis.

I can’t feel comfortable in my own skin, no matter what I do. It’s like bugs have crawled into my skin and won’t leave. You don’t understand what it’s like to feel so low about yourself. Boo, I wake up and I can’t find the will to live. I want to go back to sleep and never wake up because nothing is worse than feeling as dirty and low as I feel about myself.” He confessed, moving away from me and hugging his knees.

I didn’t know how to reply to the mini-speech. I sat, just staring at Harry as he clenched his eyes, trying to hold back tears. Hesitantly, I wrapped my arms around the seemingly fragile boy, incapable of doing anything else besides comforting him.

“Harry, babe, I understand you feel like no one could possibly know what you are going through but, babe, you’re not the only one who’s had this happen to them. Plus, there are people who specialize in talking to r-r-rape victims. They’ll understand and there are support groups and stuff. Just, please, you need to get help so you can get over this and… and move on. It kills me to see my best friend so fucking sad and depressed, knowing there is nothing I can do to help him. Please, Harry, if you don’t want to this for yourself… at least, do it for me and for everybody else in the world that loves and cares about you. Please.” I plead, my voice cracking on the last sentence.

Harry looked up, green eyes so sad yet somehow still so fucking beautiful, the raw emotion on his face cutting like a knife. My heart went out to the eighteen year old whose life was undoubtedly, irrevocably changed for the worse. As his eyes pierced into mine, the urge to just hold him and somehow manage to get rid of everything that was weighing the once happy man down became stronger until it was impossible to ignore, so that’s what I did.

“Okay. If you think it’ll help, I’ll do it. Just… can you talk to Simon? I don’t think I’ll be able to talk about it without having a breakdown.” Harry pleaded, after an indefinite amount of time had passed, maneuvering his way out of the hug.

Forcing down the bitter disappointment the move aroused within me, I smiled gently at Harry, wanting to reassure the boy in front of me that I would do whatever he needed to help him get over the horrible incident. Sighing in relief, Harry thanked me in a quiet voice that was quickly becoming normal for the once boisterous teenager and turned his attention back to the shitty program still playing, not really listening but unwilling to continue talking about the topic at hand.

Irrational bursts of anger arose somewhere in my chest as I observed my best friend. Harry was obviously lost in his thoughts, no doubt thinking about what had happened that night. The fact that some random stranger could have this much control over Harry, could change Harry so much all because they were sick and twisted to the core pissed me off. I’ve always had a protective streak when it comes to Harry, because for all his bravado, he was like a little innocent kitten that had no idea how the world really worked (not that that’s a bad thing), but now my protectiveness was rearing its ugly head, making me want to hunt the fucker who hurt Harry (my Harry) down and seriously hurt him in retaliation. Sighing, I turn my attention to my phone, texting management to set up a date to talk about everything. When everything was set up for next Wednesday, I pushed all thoughts of what happened to the back of my mind, throwing an arm around Harry, relishing in the press of his body against mine as the familiar drone of shitty reality TV washed over me, a false sense of calm settling over the room.

I had a week to work out what to do about Harry and what had happened but for now, I was content to just push everything to the back of my mind and concentrate on moments like this, where Harry and I bleed into each other until it’s difficult to tell where one begins and the other ends, blissfully lost in our imaginary innocence.


End file.
